


Heart Over Mind

by socknonny



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Character Study, Childhood Trauma, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, The Upside Down, Trust, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 23:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18679180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/socknonny/pseuds/socknonny
Summary: Something's happening to Billy Hargrove. The years are dropping away in seconds, and the younger he gets the less he remembers.When he turns to Steve for help, Steve can't help noticing Billy as a child is different to Billy as an adult. The more he sees, the more he wants to know why.





	Heart Over Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd because I am an unholy gremlin of a human who waits for no man. Feel free to point out any dumb mistakes.
> 
> This isn't a trope I usually enjoy because I'm not big on infantilizing in any way, but when de-aging is done in a very particular way (not infantilizing, but used to explore personality) I do like it. So if this style works for you too, sweet as.

When Steve enters his bedroom to find Billy Hargrove sitting on the floor beneath the window, he nearly trips over his own feet. He catches himself on the door jam at the last second, which is handy because faceplanting in front of a guy who has no qualms taking a cheap hit isn’t the best idea. Particularly since Steve is already feeling pretty vulnerable, standing there shirtless with just a towel draped around his neck and sweatpants slung low on his hips.

But Billy doesn’t attack him. He doesn’t do anything except stare at Steve, eyes oddly glazed and red around the edges. There’s something strange about his appearance, not just in the expression on his face but in his features as well. He looks chubbier than last time Steve saw him, which is crazy, because Steve only saw him yesterday at the pool, strutting around in tiny, red shorts that made it very clear there was nothing there but lean, hard muscle.

The Billy in front of him right now has lines of baby fat around his jaw, and his eyes seem almost too big for his face. Like he hasn’t grown into his features yet.

Steve clears his throat, the indignant attack dying on his tongue before he can say it. Instead, what comes out is, “What’s up, man? Are you all right?”

Just about the least likely thing Billy can do right now is to shake his head, admit to vulnerability, and yet that’s what he does.

“Nah Harrington. I’m really fucking not.” His voice is higher somehow. Not out of fear, just… higher. “I didn’t—” He breaks off, clears his throat, and starts again. “I didn’t know where else to go. Something’s happening to me.”

“And you came  _ here _ ?” The words are out of Steve’s mouth before he can stop them.

He scans the room for a trap, but all he sees are his old, familiar plaid walls. Duran Duran poster on the wall. Desk so neat it’s like he never uses it—because he doesn’t. There’s no trap.

“Yeah, I came here,” Billy says slowly, eyes even more distant than before. “I gotta be honest with you, Harrington. I don’t actually know where  _ here _ is. I did when I left, but I don’t remember now. I just know your name. That’s it, it’s all I’ve got.”

Steve drops the towel and races across the room to kneel beside him. Threat or no threat, it’s clear Billy isn’t lying. The early morning sunlight is breaking through the window, bright orange and mottled by the tall trees behind the house. Wind hisses through the gap that obviously points to how his unexpected intruder broke in, raising the goosebumps on the back of his neck where wet hair meets skin. Steve presses two fingers to the side of Billy’s neck, but his pulse is strong and steady despite the wild look in his eye. He distantly notices the necklace Billy usually wears is absent. 

The ends of Billy’s hair trail along Steve’s knuckles, and it doesn’t make sense because Billy’s hair is longer than his jaw—why is it suddenly so short?

He lifts his hand without thinking and runs his fingers across Billy’s hair. It’s above his ears now, but Steve is sure it wasn’t cut before.

What the fuck is happening?

“Steve.” 

Billy’s voice is definitely higher now, but it’s the fear in it that stops Steve dead. He’s never heard Billy sound like this—never imagined he could. He leans back to study Billy’s face and chokes on his own spit.

He doesn’t recognize this face. He knows, intellectually, who he’s looking at, but he’s never seen this person before. This person is about twelve years old and getting younger as Steve watches. His hair is short now, no longer a mullet and barely even falling onto his forehead in tiny blond curls.

Billy grabs the front of his shirt and clenches the fabric, his eyes wide and panicked. “Help me.” His faces twists into confusion, and he falls backwards against the wall. 

The white-hot grip of panic is tightening Steve’s throat, and he can’t think, can’t breathe as he stares at the ten year old leaning against the wall, swimming in an oversized leather jacket. Seconds pass, and he doesn’t shrink anymore, doesn’t get any younger.

The ten-year-old—Billy—blinks once. Twice. Then his eyes lock onto Steve’s. He tilts his head to the side, curious in a way Steve has never seen on this face before. Billy opens his mouth, but instead of the expected insult or defensive attack, all that comes out is a question.

“Who are you?”

*

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” Steve paces in front of the mirror in his parents’ ensuite and tries not to freak out. 

He’s left ten-year-old Billy down in the den choosing something to watch from his dad’s video collection because what the fuck else do you do with a ten-year-old? Steve has no idea. His experience is limited to bratty thirteen year-olds who fight monsters in their spare time, and in the few short minutes he has known Billy as a child, he already knows Billy is nothing like those kids.

Which is strange, really, when he thinks about it. If he’d been asked to describe what Billy at age ten would have been like, he would have said a little shit who started fights at every opportunity. In this fantasy scenario, Ten-year-old Billy would have pulled a cigarette out of his back pocket, flipped Steve the bird, and left the house on his own. 

Scratch that. He never would have come to Steve’s house in the first place.

So what the hell is going on with the kid downstairs? When Steve had told him he’d bumped his head and needed to stay put for an hour or so until they could be sure there was no sign of concussion, he’d just listened. Did what he was told.

Steve stares at his own incredulous face in the mirror, fingers clenched around strands of his hair and pulling them straight upwards like that’s going to somehow help this situation. There’s nothing for it; the only thing he knows for sure is that he won’t find any answers hiding upstairs in his parents’ ensuite.

And Billy… Fuck. Billy needs him.

So Steve squares his shoulders and marches back downstairs. When he reaches the den, he hovers in the doorway and watches the kid sitting cross-legged on the floor. He hasn’t noticed Steve yet—too intent on reading the backs of the videos line by line. Steve watches him for about five minutes before quietly clearing his throat.

Billy doesn’t jump. Instead, he slowly lifts his head and meets Steve’s eye, like he’s known Steve was there the entire time.

“Found anything you want to watch?” Steve asks, heart racing with adrenaline.

“This one.” Billy holds up the case for Return of the Jedi, and Steve re-evaluates everything he was just thinking about not knowing what to do with a kid who isn’t in the Party.

He can’t hold back his smirk completely, so he covers it by nodding his head towards the VHS player as he walks into the room. “Stick it on then.”

Billy looks at the case, then at Steve, then back at the case. A couple of blond curls fall across his face, covering the careful frown on his forehead. He’s weighing something up, but Steve can’t read minds and Billy seems hesitant to speak. He looks so fucking small there, swimming in Steve’s oversized sweatshirt and pants. There had been a moment, earlier, where Billy had studied himself in the mirror, eyes wide with something like awe at the sight of the leather jacket and open shirt, but then he’d reluctantly acknowledged he didn’t fit them and accepted Steve’s offer of clean clothing.

“I don’t know how to use it,” Billy says finally. 

Steve blinks, but covers his surprise smoothly by taking the offered VHS and slipping it into the player. He’s seen Return of the Jedi too many times to count, courtesy of Dustin, so it isn’t an issue that he doesn’t seem able to watch it this time. His eyes are drawn, instead, to Billy. He’s back to sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning forward in a way that is earnest and focused and so much like Will that Steve can’t look away.

As the movie continues, Steve is overtaken by a sense of wrongness he can’t shake. He’s been to the cinema with Billy before. Not  _ with  _ Billy, but no one in that theatre could ignore the fact that Billy Hargrove was on a date up the back of the cinema because he talked through the whole goddamn thing.

Billy isn’t talking now. The movie goes on, and the silence doesn’t break, and Steve feels like his skin is on fire because what the hell is he meant to do? He’s going to have to call Hopper since there is no doubt in his mind that this has something to do with the Upside Down, but he can’t bring himself to leave the room.

“You okay there?” Steve finds himself asking, breaking the silence so suddenly he jumps at his own words.

Again, Billy doesn’t startle or show any sign that he is surprised. His attention on the screen is unbroken, but he answers Steve immediately.

“Sure.” He pauses, still watching the screen, then: “can I go yet?”

“Uh, I’m not really sure that’s such a great idea.”

“Why not?”

Billy is no longer watching the T.V. Instead, his piercing, blue eyes are locked on Steve’s. The expression in them is just as unreadable as it has been since Billy stopped being scared, but Steve is certain Billy is weighing him up in his mind. 

And Steve can’t help but feel he’s already let this kid down. How the fuck did that happen?

“Well, because…”

“You’re not my dad. I don’t have to listen to you.”

Steve chokes on his own spit. “No I’m not your— your fucking  _ dad _ . I’m nineteen years— Jesus— how old you think I am?”

Billy’s lips quirk into a smug smile. Baited.

Steve lets out a low breath, counting the seconds until he's calm. It turns out Billy at ten is just as much of a little shit as Billy at nineteen, even if he does seem strangely different in every other way.

“I don't think you should leave because I'm worried something will happen to you if you go out there alone.” Steve tries again. It isn't exactly an answer—it's distinctly lacking in explanation or details—but it's also the truth.

Something about the wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression Billy gives him tells Steve it was the right thing to say.

“You're worried?” Billy's voice sounds odd—a little too shaky to be normal.

“Yeah, man.” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Of course.”

The ‘man’ just slips out, even though it isn't how he usually talks to kids. Part of him is very aware that this is still Billy Hargrove, and that's just how the two of them talk. Man to man. Machismo feeding off posturing. Nonetheless, he winces and looks back at the kid, concerned he's said the wrong thing.

But Billy's chest puffs out and he stands a little straighter. Somewhere between Steve expressing genuine concern for him and the casual deference as if to an equal, Billy has relaxed.

“All right.” Billy turns around and sits down cross-legged on the coffee table. It's the strangest mix of child-like clambering and Billy-like irreverence Steve has ever seen. “But you've got to answer some questions. So's I know you're not some creep, you get me?”

The fierce, curious light in Billy's eyes tells Steve he's already made his mind up that Steve isn't some creep who's kidnapped him, and this game has a different purpose. But whatever. Steve will play along; anything to buy him time while he figures out what the hell to do.

“Question number one,” Billy holds up one finger.

It's so honest to god earnest, with just a hint of brat, that Steve forgets what he was thinking. Who the hell is this kid? It's like Billy without the anger. Still the same intensity and need for attention, but none of the constant attacks that Steve associates with him. If Steve had met this kid in middle school, they probably would've been friends.

Billy waves the finger, still speaking, “Where am I?”

The dull glow from the T.V. flickers across their skin, making Billy look even more serious while Steve just feels confused. 

Of course. Billy doesn't know him. He  _ said  _ that right at the start. Jesus, Steve should have explained it to him immediately, even if it was mostly a lie to make him feel safe. What kind of kid just accepts sitting in a stranger’s house?

Then Steve remembers the odd stillness to Billy's posture, the way he'd known Steve was there without giving any indication at all that he wasn’t paying full attention to the movie. The way his eyes had flicked purposefully, strategically, around each new room they entered as they moved through the house.

Marking the exits.

Assessing the danger.

Steve's mouth grows slack, but he forces himself to put aside the mystery of Billy the kid and focus on one step at a time.

“We're uh, we're friends. And you fell out the window. I think your memory will come back soon. It’s just a temporary thing.”

As Steve talks, Billy's eyebrows lift higher and higher. The stilted sentences hang in the air between them, awkward and false, but for whatever reason, Billy buys it.

“Okay, so you’re like, what, a senior?”

“Just graduated.”

Billy’s eyes light up, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he unfolds his legs and jumps off the coffee table, leading the way out of the den. Steve follows, crossing and uncrossing his arms nervously as he trails Billy around the house.

Everything catches the kid’s attention. The expansive fireplace in the living room is the first thing he sees, and Steve watches him silently take note, cataloguing it away for god-only-knows why in his head before continuing his circuit. The overly large sweatpants he’s wearing are cinched in tight around his waist, but they still drag beneath his heels as he walks. It’s almost his usual strut, but not quite. Just a little too stumbling, a little too unsure. He hasn’t yet perfected the aggressive prowl Steve is used to.

They leave the living room and enter the hall, where Billy’s eyes narrow at the staircase, thoughtful before he moves on into the kitchen.

He stops dead in the doorway, gaping at the size of the fridge.

“What the hell?” He stumbles forward, grabbing the handle and yanking the door open. “How many people live here?”

_ One. _

“Uh, three,” Steve says, folding his arms for the eighteenth time and leaning in the doorway.

“Jesus.” 

Billy turns from the fridge to the cupboards, throwing them open and rifling through the seemingly endless packets of cereal and lunchables. If there’s one thing Mrs Harrington makes sure of, it’s that her child is well fed. Even if she has perhaps missed the memo that said child is older than eight and no longer lives on kid’s food. Steve keeps the freezer stocked with toaster strudels and bagel bites though, and the Party appreciates the cupboards.

So, it seems, does Billy.

Before Steve has any say in it, Billy has found the bowls and plonked one down on the table, shaking in Mr. T corn and oats mix so erratically it falls all across the counter. Steve gapes at him. He doesn’t care about the cereal itself, he just doesn’t know what’s going on. One minute, Billy is cautious and silent, saying nothing more than he has to. The next, he’s running around like he owns the place. Except even Steve wouldn’t act like this in his own house.

Their eyes meet, and Steve jolts at the challenge in them.

Steve was wrong—he isn’t running around like he owns the place. He’s pushing the boundaries.

“What are you doing, shithead?” Steve glares at Billy, crossing his arms tighter and resisting the urge to point a finger at the kid.

There’s a moment where his heart suddenly races as he remembers this is  _ Billy  _ and Billy doesn’t back down in a fight, but then the kid just fucking grins at him, and he has no idea what’s going on any more.

“Eating,” Billy says, grabbing the milk from the fridge and pouring it into the bowl.

Half spills over the counter, and neither of them make a move to clean it up. Billy grabs a spoon and starts to eat—loud and messy. There’s a grin on his face like nothing Steve has ever seen on him before. He’s still holding Steve’s gaze, still challenging him, but he seems more sure of himself now. Like he’d pushed up against the line and found it wasn’t as close as he’d thought.

It probably wasn’t. Steve knows he’s a pushover. All the kids know it too.

“Listen, Billy, I need to find out what happened tonight so I can work out how to help you.”

“I thought you said I fell out the window.”

Shit.

“Yeah, but like, how did you fall out the window, shithead?” Steve covers. “Do you remember anything about tonight?”

For the first time since Billy started relaxing, his face closes off again. “Forget it. Probably just did something irresponsible.”

Okay. That’s strange.

“You don’t remember anything?” Steve presses, desperate for any clue that will help him when he inevitably goes running to Hopper and El. Something he strangely doesn’t want to do, though he has no idea why.

Billy smacks the bowl down on the table, sending milk slopping over the sides and spilling everywhere. “I don’t remember anything.” He holds up two fingers. “Question two. What’s your name?”

Struck dumb yet again, Steve’s arms drop to his sides and he slumps against the door jam. He hasn’t even told Billy his name yet? If one of the Party had hit their head and ended up in a room with a stranger, they never would have shut up until they knew more than their bloody caretaker. Billy doesn’t know anything—not where he is, not who he’s with—and he’s only asking questions now. Why now?

Because he feels safe.

The realization hits Steve like a truck. He’s almost winded from it. When Billy doesn’t feel safe, he doesn’t ask questions. He goes silent. He marks the exits and studies the environment.

Swallowing thickly, Steve manages to answer. “Steve Harrington. We—” He can’t say they went to school together. “I drive you to school. You know, help your mom out and all that.”

Billy’s face walls off completely. The change is startling, and for a second he no longer looks like this bizarre ten year old version of a man Steve knows. He looks like Billy Hargrove.

“I don’t have a mom.” His voice is like ice, and he jumps off the stool and walks out of the kitchen. 

“What? Hey!” Steve chases him. 

“Get away from me!” Billy yells, shoving Steve back when he tries to grab Billy’s arm. “You’re lying!” 

Instead of running to the front door, Billy runs up the stairs, past Steve’s room and into his parents’ bedroom.

“Sorry, Billy!” Steve runs a hand through his hair, quietly swearing to himself because he’s gone and fucked up  _ again _ . “I didn’t mean— I’m sorry. I don’t talk to your dad much and I forgot his girlfriend wasn’t your mom.” He prays Billy’s dad had a girlfriend when Billy was ten, because if he didn’t he doesn’t know how the hell to get out of this.

When he finally catches up to Billy, Steve finds him staring out the window to the driveway below. Neither of them say anything. Steve’s too scared he’s messed this up to try breaking the silence—too confused by the fact that he cares if he’s messed up.

“Don’t call her my mom again.” 

The words are sharp, cutting, but the voice is oh so soft. He reminds Steve once again of Will, and Steve would promise Will anything, so he finds himself nodding fervently.

“I won’t.”

“A friend wouldn’t have said that.”

Steve’s stomach jolts, the sickening twist of dread tightening around his spine.

“Are we really friends?” Billy asks, deliberately casual.

“Yeah, man.”

They fall into silence again.

“It’s a long way to fall,” Billy says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t have a bump.”

“Huh?” Steve meets his eyes, noting the shrewd expression there with a sinking stomach.

“If I’d fallen, I’d have a bump.”

“Not necessarily.”

“I would.”

“You’ve got a hard head.”

Billy snickers. “Are you an idiot?” Probably. “Doesn’t matter how hard your head is, if you fall out a window you’d know it.”

Steve sighs. Billy’s eyes flash in triumph.

“Tell me the truth.”

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“You owe me.”

Steve wonders if there will ever be any end to this strange night. Even if they do against all odds get through this, he will never be able to get this image out of his head. Billy Hargrove standing there in all earnestness, insisting on fairness and truth. Being right about it.

“Fine.” 

He doesn’t realize his heart is racing until he hears the breathlessness in his own voice. But he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s never been good at making decisions on his own; he’s much better as a team, much better bouncing ideas off someone else. But there is no one else, and the feeling that he shouldn’t get anyone else keeps growing stronger. Because there is something vulnerable about Billy at this age, something unguarded in a way Steve is only now realizing Billy at age nineteen never is. Inviting more people to witness him like this feels like a betrayal, particularly when Billy came here. Came to Steve.

So he tells him the truth.

“Fine. We graduated high school last year. You’re nineteen years old and you showed up at my window tonight, fucking terrified of something, and you were— dude, you were  _ aging backwards _ . I watched you get younger, man. You stopped at whatever you are now. Like ten I guess.”

Billy’s eyes grow wider, and Steve runs out of words. The silence is excruciating.

When Billy finally speaks, Steve wonders if one or either of them have had a stroke, because the words don’t make sense. “So we are friends then?”

“Huh?”

“I came here,” Billy insists. “So we must be friends.”

Something cold clenches around Steve’s heart. He finds himself nodding.

“And this is like the fountain of youth or something!” Billy continues, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. “That’s why my clothes didn’t fit! Am I really nineteen? What if I can’t get back? Do you have a photo of me?”

Steve is struck by the unavoidable knowledge that he is talking to a kid. An excitable, imaginative, hopeful kid who doesn’t trust adults and analyzes new situations silently and deeply before working out how to save himself.

“Question number three.” Billy holds up three fingers. “Can I stay with you?”

“ _ What? _ ”

“Your place is huge. There’s plenty of room, and you’ve got heaps of food. You said you’ve graduated, so this is your place yeah? Let me stay. I can mow the lawns or take out the trash or—”

“Stop, stop.” Steve holds up a hand and closes his eyes. “You want to live with me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why the hell do you want to live with me?”

Billy’s face shuts down again, but it isn’t as much as before. It’s tentative and cautious rather than a blank wall, and the strange sense of hope Steve feels is a warm shiver down his spine.

“Well it’s not like my dad will want me back,” Billy snaps suddenly, refusing to look Steve in the eye.

The doorbell rings.

After an agonizing moment where Steve considers pretending he isn’t home, he traipses downstairs, Billy in tow, and opens the front door.

Dustin’s tooth grin greets him. “Steve! What’s up, buddy?” 

He pushes inside, holding up a colorful cardboard box. Lucas and Will trail in slowly behind him.

“I brought Crossbows and Catapults, you’re gonna love it. What’s on the menu for sustenance? Because we are  _ famished _ , Steve.”

“What the hell is that?” Steve points at the box. “What the hell are you doing? You can’t just—”

He can’t deal with this. Any second now Dustin is going to see Billy, and it’s so obviously Billy even with the missing years that he’s going to know instantly some Upside Down shit is going on and then Steve is going to lose control of the situation just like he loses control of every—

“Steven.” Dustin’s voice is prim. “Who is this?”

Billy straightens, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his borrowed sweatshirt. “I’m Billy. Who are you?”

“Steve, are you babysitting  _ without me _ ?” Dustin turns a fierce glare on Steve, who becomes accutely aware of the four or five years separating Billy and the other kids.

Billy bristles. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“Of course not,” Dustin assures him. “Only it’s Steve and he has the best snacks. Have you played Crossbows and Catapults before?”

Billy’s eyes light up with interest, and he follows Dustin and the other two into the living room. Will has the good grace to look sheepish, but Steve suspects the crazed expression in his own eyes is what makes Will turn away immediately and hurry out of the room before Steve can convince him to get Dustin the hell out of his house before shit hits the fan. 

Shit has already hit the fan. Steve takes a steadying breath, closes the front door, and follows them. Dustin already has the pieces spread out on the table, quickly and efficiently explaining the rules to Billy while he sets up castles for all of them. All of them except Steve.

“What the hell, man?” he asks, sitting down at the head of the table. “Where’s my castle?”

“Sorry Steve.” Dustin hands out blocks to everyone. Everyone except Steve. “You  _ were  _ our fourth, but since you neglected to tell us you had a visitor, you’ve lost the privilege of first game. You can take my place in the next one.”

“Great. Thanks. Speaking of neglecting to tell people things—when did you tell me you were coming over?”

“It’s Saturday.” Dustin looks up at him with wide guileless eyes. “We always hang on a Saturday.”

“You hang out with kids on a Saturday?” Billy interjects, narrowing his eyes.

“Hey, you’re a kid aren’t you? And we’re friends! So shut it.” Steve says to Billy, unreasonably offended and officially losing his last shred of both sanity and dignity.

Dustin glares at him. “And when were you going to tell us about this friend, Steve?”

Steve refuses to acknowledge that the faint whimper of hysteria is his own.

“Okay, so Billy—” Dustin turns away from Steve. Deliberately. “—you want to use your crossbow or your catapult to knock down our walls and—”

Steve zones out. He ends up wandering over to the fireplace Billy was so taken with and lighting a fire just for something to do. It heats up the room quickly, and he uses it as an excuse to stand a little way away from the rest of them, thinking. Something about what Dustin said has set off a niggling thought in the back of his mind. If he could just catch hold of it, he might…

Saturday. It’s Saturday. Which means last night was Friday. Which means Rebecca was having a party down the street, which is probably where Billy was before he came here.

Steve stumbles to the door, immediately attracting four sets of eyes his way. “I’m, uh,” he says, blanking on an excuse. “Going to get snacks. Be right back.”

“Could you put on some Bagel Bites?” Will asks with a hesitant smile, and Steve promises he will.

As soon as the bites are in the oven, Steve opens the back door and legs it from his own house like the coward he is. When he arrives at Rebecca’s two storey monstrosity at the end of the court, he takes a second to thank whoever is listening that there are still people passed out on the front lawn, meaning Rebecca’s parents obviously aren’t home.

He picks his way around the piles of beer cans and comatose party-goers and opens the front door. It reeks of stale alcohol and sweat, and he wrinkles his nose as he scans the room for anyone who might be awake. His brain shoves a sharp reminder to the forefront of his thoughts that he has left Dustin alone with Billy, and  _ Billy  _ alone with  _ Dustin,  _ and he stops searching and just shakes the closest person by the shoulders.

The guy—Steve doesn’t know his name—moans and opens one eye, then the other.

“Billy Hargrove,” Steve says without waiting. “Was he here last night?”

“‘M not Billy,” the guy protests. “I’m Andy. Billy’s in the garage with Angela or Becky or…” His eyes close. “...someone…” 

He passes out again.

Steve lays Andy gently back down on the ground and ducks out the back door. He follows the trail of cigarette butts and empty cans to the garage door, and he swears he can almost smell Billy’s cologne. It hits him strangely, unlike any other time he’s smelled that tangy, overwhelming scent, so strong it’s more of a taste than a smell. 

Normally, when Steve smells Billy’s cologne, he braces himself for the fight that always comes—the insults, the challenge. Normally, his anger rises and he’s almost pleased to have the chance to purge the  _ something  _ that Billy makes him feel, to use his fists or words without reserve and be met on equal ground. It’s different this time. In his head, he sees the quiet, earnest kid who refuses to speak until he’s catalogued every piece of his environment, until he’s counted six different directions the threat could appear from. He sees that kid grow up, sees those defences become something else. Sees the careful layering of clothing and hair and jewellery, like armour.

Steve shakes his head and opens the door.

The opposite wall of the garage glows green. At first, Steve thinks it’s some kind of hydroponics system, even if it’s the wrong shape and color, but then he sees the writhing mass of something dark and sticky on the wall, twisting like vines, and he freezes. Not again. His hand on the garage door shakes, but he forces himself to step into the garage properly so he knows for sure, so he can’t question his own mind later.

The glowing light pulses, and something hanging from the wall in front of it twists and catches the light, sending it dancing across Steve’s face. His eyes land on the thing, noting it as it slowly rotates in the slight breeze coming through the open door. 

It’s Billy’s necklace.

Steve gulps and takes a step further into the garage. Then another. Then another. He doesn’t know why he’s compelled to do this, only that it feels wrong to leave the necklace here, in the possession of this thing, and like maybe this could be an answer. As simple as returning a necklace. Breaking a spell. 

He snatches the chain and runs, letting the garage door slam behind him and pretending his mind isn’t full of the inescapable memory of a Demogorgon’s roar.

When he arrives home, the oven timer chimes and he sets the necklace down on the bench in favor of slipping on oven mits and retrieving the Bagel Bites. Steve hardly notices the burn of the pastries as he slides them onto a plate, grabbing blindly at any other easy snacks and carrying the whole lot into the living room. Before he opens the door, he slips Billy’s necklace into his pocket. The last thing he needs is for Billy to turn back into, well, Billy, while the kids are still here.

He’s greeted by a disappointed roar as Dustin’s castle wall crumbles to the ground beneath Billy’s well-placed catapult payload. Will laughs while Lucas jabs a finger in Dustin’s face and yells something about retribution, but it’s the delighted expression on Billy’s face that captures Steve’s attention. All the tension and unease that had marred the edges of Billy’s expression since he first opened his eyes here has faded, and Steve is struck by the realization that he has never before seen Billy happy.

He clears his throat and sets the plates and snacks down on one end of the table. “Food’s up.”

Four hungry kids dive for the food. It’s surreal, and it sets an unexpected ache of disappointment in Steve’s chest that he is the only adult in the room when there are meant to be two. What is Billy going to say when he learns that Steve let him play board games with Dustin and Will and Lucas? What will he say when he remembers laughing with them, letting Lucas grab the last Bagel Bite, grinning around at these kids he has tormented and threatened with the hopeful, pleased expression that only a child can do.

Steve has to make sure he doesn’t turn back into himself in front of them. He owes Billy that, because Billy trusted him. Trusted him at his most vulnerable, for reasons Steve still does not understand.

“Do I get a game now?” Steve asks, relief seeping through his body when Dustin grins at him, mouth full of Bagel Bite. He’s been forgiven.

“Sure thing, Steve. Do you know how to play?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

Nonetheless, when he slides into Dustin’s spot and leaves Dustin rationing out the food according to whatever undefinable system of fairness he has devised, it’s Billy who leans in and shows him what to do. How to build up his castle walls in best defence. How many rubber bands tied onto the catapult make for the most explosive force from the payload.

“Just like this,” Billy says as he twists another rubber band into place. “And then…” He loads up the catapult and aims it at Will’s castle. “Fire!” 

The wall destructs. Will throws his head back and groans, laughing.

“This kid is too good,” Lucas says, shaking his head. “Too good, man.”

Billy beams at him, pride radiating off every feature.

Steve swallows something hard and painful back down and stands up, reaching across the table to retrieve his payload. A jingling sound distracts him, and he looks down, still laughing, just in time to see Billy’s necklace fall out of his pocket onto the table.

The laughter dies in his throat, and Billy’s face freezes.

“What—”

“You dropped your necklace upstairs, buddy,” Steve says, trying to act like it’s nothing and hoping the other kids don’t recognize it. Hoping it doesn’t turn Billy back into a hundred and eighty pounds of mean, angry adult right in front of them all.

“You wear a necklace?” Will asks, perking up and leaning over to get a look at it. “Cool.”

Billy shakes his head and reaches for the necklace, looping one finger through the chain. “It wasn’t on me. It wasn’t on me when I— Did you take it? It was my mom’s. You can’t. Did—” he breaks off, a strange expression crossing his face as he stares at the jewellery. 

Dustin leans across the table. “Hey, I know that necklace. That’s the same one old douche-face wears.” His face lights up. “Hey, you two have the same—”

Steve watches as if in slow motion as the delighted expression falls away, replaced by horror.

“—and you look…”

Billy squeezes his eyes shut, and Steve realizes he’s shaking. “Steve,” he whimpers, voice so quiet. “What’s happening?”

“Oh fuck,” Steve whispers as he finally realizes why Billy looks strange. “No, not again.”

The brown tones of Billy’s hair are lightening, turning blonder and even shorter. Less styled, more like a little kid. Even smaller than ten.

“Steve?” Dustin’s voice has an edge of hysteria. “How did you say you knew this kid again?”

“Dustin, shut up,” Steve tries to convey urgency and apology in one tone, but he’s rising fast to the edge of panic again.

“Steve!” Billy’s voice is much higher now, and his face is wrong. It’s younger again. Eight years old, at most. Getting younger. “Where am I? What’s happening? Who are you?”

“It’s okay, buddy,” Steve says, kneeling beside the small boy and trying to reassure him. Everything else fades away from the sight of open terror on Billy’s face. “You’re going to be all right. It’s okay.”

Billy’s eyes dart everywhere, and he finally seems to have stopped changing but it’s awful, horrible, terrible because he’s got to be about four years old, maybe five, and this kid doesn’t quietly analyze like his older self does. He doesn’t mark the exits or come up with three new strategies before opening his mouth. He hasn’t learned how to yet.

And god, why did Billy ever need to learn that at  _ ten years old _ ? 

“Who are you?” Billy repeats, his face open in terror. “Where’s my mom?”

In the end, it takes three Bagel Bites and a hug from Will—the least intimidating of the lot of them—before Billy calms down enough for Steve to leave the room. He doesn’t try to give Billy any answers; he’s too young to handle them anyway. They just try to reassure him, each of them working in stunned synchronicity, until he is no longer afraid.

Dustin and Lucas follow him into the kitchen. It’s a testament to how shocked they are that they don’t bombard him with questions the second they’re out of earshot.

Steve holds up one finger, gesturing for them to wait, then he turns around, grips his hair between his fingers, and silently screams  _ fuck  _ so forcefully his throat actually hurts. Then he faces them again and steels his expression into something normal.

“Okay, so here’s what happened,” he says calmly, and then proceeds to explain the entire fuck-up of a morning to the two of them. “I thought giving the necklace back would help, not make it worse,” he says at the end. “But obviously I don’t know what to do and we really need to tell Hopper about that thing in Rebecca’s garage.”

“Well  _ duh _ ,” Dustin says when Steve finally stops talking. Steve glares at him, but Dustin ignores him and snatches the necklace from Steve’s hand, studying it. “You think it’s being used like an amulet?”

“A what now?”

This time, Lucas rolls his eyes. “To focus your spellcasting? You think the Upside Down is using it to latch onto Billy and do its hocus pocus?”

“I don’t, uh,” Steve crosses his arms. “I don’t. Yeah. Probably.”

“That’s dumb,” Dustin says decisively. “If it’s doing that, then it shouldn’t work when the amulet isn’t in the Mind Flayer’s possession.”

“And the Mind Flayer has never worked like that before,” Lucas points out.

“Well it’s never goddamn shrunk someone either,” Steve hisses, jabbing a finger towards the living room. “You want to work  _ with _ me here?” 

“Steve’s got a point,” Dustin says. “This is a brainstorm session. There are no wrong ideas.”

Lucas folds his arms and glares at the necklace. “What if it’s cursed?”

Dustin snaps his fingers. “Like the amulet of perpetual youth.”

“That’s not really a curse, though,” Lucas says thoughtfully. “And it would have to be worn to cast its magic.”

“Off topic, off topic,” Steve claps his hands. “No wrong ideas, remember? What else you got?”

“It could be a talisman,” Dustin says hesitantly. He turns the pendant over in his hands and studies it. “This is a saint, right?” His eyes flick nervously to the living room. “What if this necklace meant something to… to Billy. And when the Upside Down got hold of it, it warped that goodness. Cursed it.”

Lucas snaps his fingers. “And turned it into an amulet of perpetual youth.”

“So Billy’s lost his talisman  _ and  _ it’s become cursed.” Dustin’s eyes widen. “I guess that could work from a distance without being worn, because he’s worn it for so long it’s already powerfully linked to him. And that explains why it doesn’t affect us. Right, Steve?”

They both turn to Steve, who gapes at them, eyes wide, before hissing, “I don’t fucking know!”

“Language, Steve!”

“We need to cleanse it,” Lucas says decisively.

“We could purify it by fire,” Dustin suggests, eyes flicking to the oven.

“None of you shitheads are burning anything in this house.”

“Okay, no fire.” Dustin looks disappointed. “What about holy water?”

“Do I look like a goddamn church?”

Lucas shrugs, agitated. “Those are your only two options,” he insists. “We don’t exactly have any magic spells lying around. It’s fire or blessing.”

“Okay, okay, wait.” Steve holds up his hand. “What about… what about if we turn it into a new talisman?”

Dustin and Lucas wrinkle their noses simultaneously, but Steve holds up one finger before they can speak. “No stupid ideas, remember? This thing had to become a talisman somehow in the first place, right? So it can just become a new one. It doesn’t have to be cleansed to become the old one, we can just make it a new one.”

Lucas’s expression is pained while Dustin gapes at him, offended. “You can’t turn a tainted item into a talisman without cleansing it. That’s wrong! It has to be pure.”

Something painful shifts in Steve’s chest. He thinks of the small boy in the other room, terrified and alone and without any of the protections he’s built up over the years. Protections that, okay, are pretty fucking terrible, but they still served him. They still saved him—from what, Steve doesn’t know for sure, although he has some ideas. 

But they saved him; he does know that.

“This world isn’t pure, Dustin,” he says as gently as he can, plucking the necklace free from Dustin’s hands. “We do what we can to survive until we can do better. Nothing is perfect, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It doesn’t make it bad.”

He walks into the living room, trying to remember what Billy had said to him when he tumbled through the window so many hours ago. Tries to think what Billy’s mom might have said to him when she gave him this necklace, what might have turned it into a talisman for him. 

In the end, he settles on the only thing he can: the truth.

Billy is huddled on the floor in front of the flickering fireplace, playing with one of the crossbows and firing the tiny plastic discs into the couch. He’s absolutely swimming in Steve’s old clothes, but there’s been no time to get him anything smaller. That’s if Steve even has something that would fit a four year old. Which he doesn’t.

Billy is engrossed in the play, a frown of concentration on his face that breaks into a smile every time he fires one. When Steve enters the room, he doesn’t even notice. Only Will looks up, a frantic expression on his face.

“Is he really…?” he asks, and Steve nods. 

He kneels to the ground in front of Billy.

“Hey,” he says softly, ignoring the way Billy’s eyes hide nothing. Ignoring the way those eyes go through fear, then hesitation, and mistrust. Ignoring how much it hurts.

“Hi,” Billy says.

“I’m Steve,” Steve says, remembering how he messed up the first time with ten year old Billy, and vowing not to do it again.

“I’m Billy.”

“I know,” Steve says, ignoring once more the confusion on Billy’s face. “We’re friends, but you fell and hit your head. Do you remember?” 

Billy shakes his head, but the gentle explanation is slowly easing the distress on his face. It kills Steve how easy it is to soothe this child, how easy it is to calm him when he hasn’t yet learned that people lie.

“Where’s my mom?”

“She’s coming. She’s just gone to get the doctor.”

Billy’s eyes water, and Steve’s heart breaks. Dustin, Will and Lucas are shuffling awkwardly behind him, edging slowly closer like they too can’t resist the magnetic compulsion to soothe a crying child.

Steve holds up the necklace. “Do you recognize this?”

Billy shakes his head. Thank god; he hasn’t already been given it.

“It belonged to your mom,” Steve says, somehow knowing that he can’t lie or it won’t work. “And I want you to have it.” He can skip over the part in the middle that doesn’t make sense, like how Billy’s mom gave it to Steve and why Steve has the power to gift it to Billy instead of her. Billy is too young to question it. Which makes him just young enough to believe. “I want to thank you for coming here this morning, Billy.” 

The weight of Dustin, Lucas, and Will’s stares bores into Steve’s back, but he ignores them. Focuses on saying what he means. What’s important.

“Thank you for trusting me and coming here when you needed help.” He imagines what a mother might have said when giving her child a token. “I want you to remember I’m always here if you need someone.”

His cheeks burn as he says the words, but he forces them out, forces them to be strong and sure. Billy’s eyes water with a different emotion this time, and for all that children’s faces are easy to read, Steve can’t bear to acknowledge how it feels to have someone look at him with so much trust and awe.

But even though Steve feels changed, nothing happens.

Someone coughs behind him. “He has to wear it,” Dustin hisses in a whisper loud enough for the whole town to hear.

Steve startles, but leans forward and loops the necklace around Billy’s neck.

It happens much quicker this time. One moment, Steve is looking at a child, the next second Billy Hargrove is back. His eyes are still watering with emotion, and he quickly blinks them and turns away, the piercing blue obscured and leaving Steve feeling somehow lost.

Several gasps come from behind him, and he remembers they’re not alone.

“Can you guys give us a minute?” 

There’s the sound of a hand being clapped over a mouth, and Dustin’s furious mumble of protest, and then the door shuts behind them.

The silence is agonizing. Billy’s chest heaves, each breath becoming progressively quicker than the last, but he doesn’t move away even though the two of them are close enough that their knees brush together. Emotions flicker across Billy’s expression: the familiar rage and distance, the walls Steve has now seen in their infancy-stage before they became as strong as they are now. The walls he now recognizes for the protection they are.

They fade away, replaced by a bitterness that makes Steve’s heart twinge.

“Do you remember…?” he asks cautiously, not sure if aging upward will have the same effect as backward, and Billy will have no memory of the last few hours.

“I remember,” he says finally. It’s a shock to hear Billy’s gravelly tones after so long hearing a softer a voice, a voice that was never quite right. “What was it?”

“You got hit by the Upside Down,” Steve says, and then gives as quick a run down as he can of what happened over a year ago.

Inexplicably, Billy’s breath slows down as Steve talks, and when he’s finished Billy is breathing normally.

Steve waits, but Billy says nothing. It occurs to him—distantly, strangely—that there is nothing Billy can say except for the truth, whatever that is. Steve knows him too well now to not see through anything less.

“I meant it,” Steve finds himself saying, filling the silence that Billy won’t.

Billy frowns at him.

“What I said. About coming here—thank you. I’m glad you…” He’s going to get beaten up. “I’m glad you trusted me.”

The breathing quickens once more, but only for a few breaths. “I don’t think it would have worked if you hadn’t.”

“Huh?”

Billy hooks a finger around the necklace and lifts it, then lets it drop. “It’s a talisman, right? That fucked-up thing in the wall got hold of it. Twisted it against me.”

Great, so Steve is still officially the dumb one of the group.

Suddenly, Billy’s blank expression shifts, and he smiles. “You figured it out, Harrington.” 

“Well the kids—” Steve begins to say, until he realizes that they might have had the knowledge, but it was Steve who had the plan. Steve who saved him. “Yeah. I guess so.”

Billy grins at him. His long hair falls forward to shadow his face, but it does nothing to hide the brightness of that smile, the way his eyes soften with something tentative. “I knew you’d know what to do. You’re like a goddamn mother hen.” His voice is both fond and teasing, but his expression says something else. Awe and heat. 

Steve realizes he isn’t breathing. His breath has been caught ever since Billy smiled at him, and he forces himself to take a ragged lungful of air, closing his eyes against the sight of Billy’s smile and seeing it in even more blinding detail in his mind’s eye. They’re so close, he can feel Billy’s breath against his skin, warm and soft. 

He opens his eyes. Billy is still watching him, fear mixed in with the warmth now, but at least he isn’t running.

Steve’s eyes drop to Billy’s lips, and they’re too close for him to not hear the minute catch of Billy’s breath. To hear the impossible confirmation that they’re somehow, inexplicably, on the same page. That they’ve become closer in the last few hours than in the months they’ve known each other. 

“We have to face the shitheads at some point,” he says reluctantly, knowing they have at most minutes before Dustin breaks free of Lucas and bursts into the living room. 

The firelight flickers across Billy’s face, making it difficult to read. But finally, he nods and climbs to his feet. He reaches out a hand to Steve and pulls him up roughly.

Arguing sounds come from the kitchen, raised voices and an insistent tone Steve knows well. They probably have seconds.

He sighs. “Come on. Once I get rid of them, we can get a pizza or something.”

Billy’s eyes widen, just slightly, and that same darting of glances happens again: eyes to lips and back again. In sync. Steve wonders if he’ll ever again find Billy Hargrove a mystery, or if that time has been well and truly shattered along with his misplaced hatred. 

He takes a step forward, but Billy’s hand reaches out and grabs hold of his wrist, pulling him back. The firelight flickers across them, raw crackling heat that is somehow ice-cold compared to the warmth of Billy’s lips against his. Billy’s fingers slide beneath Steve’s shirt, gripping him by the hip and pulling him closer. If every one of Steve’s nerve endings weren’t on fire, he might miss the way Billy’s hand shakes. But he doesn’t.

Steve lifts his own hand to Billy’s face and holds him, tender in a way that is usually for show, but is anything but right now. Their lips part, tentative and unsure with the faint taste of Bagel Bites mixing between them. And then the hesitation disappears, and the kiss becomes hungry. It’s urgent and desperate like there is too much distance between them even though they’re pressed together from chest to hips, and Steve swears he can feel the minute flex of muscle between their thin layers of clothing.

“Harrington,” Billy breathes, and it sounds like an apology and reverence all in one.

The indignant shout of “Dustin!” is their only warning, but it comes just in time as they break away and straighten their clothing seconds before Dustin bursts in.

“What the hell, Steve?!” He yelps, but his expression isn’t shocked, so he didn’t see. 

Steve can deal with that another time. He’s got more than enough on his hands right now. Has the exact right amount on his hands right now.

A sideways glance at the smug smirk on Billy’s face confirms Billy is thinking the same thing, and Steve vows to get rid of the kids as quickly as he can while still being gentle and thankful. He owes them after all; he couldn’t have done it without them.

“Dustin, I need you to go get Hopper.” Steve says urgently. “We need El to fix this immediately.”

Dustin’s mouth snaps shut and he nods reluctantly. Lucas hooks an arm through his and steers him to the door, Will trailing slowly behind with a much more knowing look on his face than the others.

“Wouldn’t it be quicker if we drove?” Dustin yells before they make it to the door.

Shit. It would.

“Fine,” Steve snaps. “Where are my keys?” 

“Right here, Steve!” Dustin grabs them from the hook and throws them. Helpful kid that he is.

Steve catches the keys and spares Billy an apologetic look. But Billy just lifts one shoulder in a shrug and smirks at him.

“It’s all right, Harrington,” he says just loud enough for Steve to hear. “The way you tell it, there’s a piece of shit monster around here somewhere that needs a good punch in the face.” His eyes glint at the prospect of revenge. Then he leans close to Steve’s ear. “And when we’re done, and the brats have gone home, we’ve got all night.”

Desire runs hot down Steve’s spine, and he turns and heads for the door, hyper aware of Billy’s gaze on his retreating back. When he looks back, Billy has joined the group, his expression closed-off again. He trails behind the rest of them, mouth stiff and eyes revealing nothing.

The walls are back up. But that’s okay; This time, Steve knows what’s underneath. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3


End file.
